


Camelliad

by Celestine_Blanchefleur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestine_Blanchefleur/pseuds/Celestine_Blanchefleur
Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they had successfully stamped that freakishness out of Camelia Potter,  thank you very much. Nothing Strange had happened for the last four years. What they did not know, however, was that Elly had simply moved the Strange from the house and into her cupboard.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. A letter and a bundle.

**Author's Note:**

> All due credit, profit and respect for the creation of Harry Potter goes to JK Rowling.

It was a rather wet and miserable Wednesday morning when Petunia Dursley was busy in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Dudley was still sound asleep in his crib and Vernon Dursley was reading the morning paper. 

'Unprecedented change in owl sleeping patterns' was the top news headline. Her husband sipped his tea and grunted angrly as his eyes darted across the article.

She had heard about the unusual amount of shooting stars in Kent yesterday in the news. Whatever it was that Lotter and his lot were up to, they better knock it off soon, because Petunia was not sure her nerves could take much more.

She dropped some more bacon in the pan and pulled a batch of muffins out of the oven.

"Mh, smells fantastic, dear," Vernon smelled the air and grumled contently. He put down the newspaper and reached for a muffin.

Yesterday her husband had asked Petunia about her sister's child as they were watching the telly. She had told him it was called Harry. 

That was almost true. She did not know for certain, but her sister had sad they would name it Harry if it was a boy.

It probably was - her sister always got what she wanted.

"Dudley learned a new word yesterday evening," Petunia said and split another egg on the pan.

Vernon looked up from his food, "And what was it, dear?"

"Eat. I was just feeding him dinner and wouldn't you know it," Petunia smiled to herself. Dudley was her little boy. No-one and nothing could ever come close to her adorable pumpkin.

Vernon pulled his version of a fatherly smile, "He's a bright chapp, isn't he."

Petunia picked up the crate of empty milk bottles to put out for the delivery boy and walked over to the door.

When she opened it, the first thing she saw was a small bundle wrapped in a light blue dotted blanket on the porch.

She put down the bottles and moved closer to investigate the strange package.

Petunia prodded the wrapping. It was unusually heavy and seemed to be breathing. She lifted the covers and was shocked to see … a baby.

She screamed.

Someone had left a baby on the doorstep of the number four Privet Drive! These kinds of things were supposed to happen only in fairytales least of all in Little Whinging. 

Surely there were orphanages for that.

The baby woke from the noise and let out a pitiful cry.

"What is it, Pet?" Vernon was at the door with a worried look on his face.

"Someone's dropped a kid here," Petunia picked up the whining creature and got inside the house before any of the neighbors saw the scene.

"A kid?" Vernon trailed behind her, "How in the… Why … "

He was turning a shade of magenta and furiously stroking hos moustache..

"I don't know," Petunia snapped back. She found an empty laundry basket in the washroom and put the baby in for the time being. It had stopped crying and she noticed a letter it was clutching.

The baby had chewed off a corner.

"We ain't keeping it!" her husband declared and vlared at the basket.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course not," she pulled the letter out of the child's grasp and inspected it with a mix of disgust and curiosity.

"They've left a letter, look" Petunia flipped the envelope, " It's addressed and everything."

"To us?" Vernol looked as if all his worst fears had come true.

"Who else," Petunia handed over the letter and went to find a letter opener.

The envelope was printed in neat, square letters and addressed to Perunia Dursley.

"That's not normal letter paper," Vernon mumbled to himself, "has got all the stamps, though."

Did this have something to do with all the freaks on streets yesterday? He sincerely hoped it was simply some delinquent mother who did not want to deal with the consequences of her actions.

He went back to the kitchen to finish his tea leaving the baby alone in the washroom.

Petunia returned, opened the letter and sat down at the table to read it.

When she saw the handwriting, her heart stopped. 

She had not forgotten it - How could she have? - It was when all of it went wrong. When - _she _\- went wrong.__

___Dear Petunia,_ _ _

___I am writing this letter to inform you of news I wish were not true and so I advise you to continue this in private. ____ _

____Petunia looked up at Vernon, paused, but decided to contnue reading._ _ _ _

_____I would have preferred to visit you in person, but as you made a request when we last corresponded, I will not impose myself on your home._ _ _ _ _

_____It is my deepest regret to inform you that your sister Lily Evans Potter is dead._ _ _ _ _

_____She and her husband James Potter were attacked on the night of the 31st October in their home in Godric's Hollow. Their daughter was the only survivor._ _ _ _ _

_____Both her parents were among the most extraordinary courageous warriors and my dearest friends. They were invaluable in the fight against the terrorist organisation of our world known as Death Eaters and these qualities were the reason Voldemort, the leader of said group, sought them in particular._ _ _ _ _

_____Lily and James fought valiantly and refused to go into hiding until the birth of their daughter. They were betrayed by a friend - Sirius Black, he was the only one who knew their location._ _ _ _ _

_____I wish I could express how sorry I am for your loss, but it was not in vain. That night, when Lily Potter died in place of her child, she set a blood-bound protection. As you are the only living relative of your sister, it is essential Camellia Helen Lily Potter must call your home her's._ _ _ _ _

_____There are those still at large who would wish to do her harm and they would have no mercy for you if you were to stand in their way. However, as long as she lives in your home, none of her family can be touched._ _ _ _ _

_____I apologize that an addition to your household has come about in such a forceful manner, if there was any other option I would gladly have accepted it. As it is, I trust you to raise Camellia to the best of your ability and reveal as much about her parents as is appropriate._ _ _ _ _

_____The funeral will be held on Friday, November sixth at St. John's church in Godric's Hollow at five pm._ _ _ _ _

_____I offer my most sincere condolences and may it perhaps be of some consolation that for a well organised mind death is but the next great adventure._ _ _ _ _

_____With my best regards,_ _ _ _ _

_____Albus Dumbledore ____ _ _ _

______Petunia was still staring at the paper long after she had read it. She was stiff and perfectly still. A horrible, painful lump had settled in her chest._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Well, what's it say?" Vernon bent over to see the letter._ _ _ _ _ _

______Petunia jerked the letter out of his grasp and covered it against her chest, "We have to keep it," her voice was quiet and defeated._ _ _ _ _ _

______"But … but why? There are plenty of those houses for homeless kids, "Vernon was perplexed and gripped the edge of Whinging Morning Post, "and we haven't got the money for another!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"We must," she said._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I won't have it!" he slammed the newspaper down, "that brat can go live at St. Gertrude's and we'll be done with it!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"We have to," Petunia looked pained, "it's my sister's. She's dead. If we don't keep it, _they_ will come for us."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vernon did not respond to that. Instead he finished his sandwich, drank the tea and left for work._ _ _ _ _ _

______Petunia looked at the toast that had gone cold. She did not move to take the burnt eggs off the stove or the empty plates off the table._ _ _ _ _ _

______Only when Vernon shut the door and she heard the car pull out on the street, Petunia sunk in her seat._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Lily..."_ _ _ _ _ _

______She let out a wounded wail and dropped her head in her hands._ _ _ _ _ _

______Her sister - gone!_ _ _ _ _ _

______The freak was supposed to strut around worshiping that good-for-nothing Potter, and raise that brat of hers to be an just as much of a nuisance as herself, and Petunia was supposed to never hear from her again._ _ _ _ _ _

______But she was dead._ _ _ _ _ _

______Petunia dropped on the table and hid her face in her arms._ _ _ _ _ _

______Her sister..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Gotten herself mixed up in some ridiculous anti-terrorist fight. That was something she would do - go risking her 'invaluable' neck and not even bother to tell anyone about it._ _ _ _ _ _

______She was gone._ _ _ _ _ _

______Gone again 'on the next great adventure' as she always did - without a care in the world - always bright and shiny, always perfect, always leaving the mere mortals to pick up the pieces._ _ _ _ _ _

______Petunia held up her head and looked out of the window. It had begun raining again and a child with an oversized school bag passed by on the street._ _ _ _ _ _

______Damn Lily Evans and her perfect hair and perfect grades and her perfect death!_ _ _ _ _ _

______Died in the place of her child before she even had the chance to grow old and ugly, and stupid with Alzheimer's._ _ _ _ _ _

______A traitorous little voice at the back of her head nagged Petunia if she would have done anything less for Dudley._ _ _ _ _ _

______She eyed the cursive covered page for a long minute. Finally, she got up, pulled out the matches and set the letter on fire._ _ _ _ _ _

______It resisted at first, but soon caught flame and crumpled up in a black ball. She watched it turn to ashes._ _ _ _ _ _

______This did not change anything. Her sister had died the day she walked through a wall at King's Cross and left Petunia behind._ _ _ _ _ _

______Now Lily Potter had met her end. Good riddance._ _ _ _ _ _

______But no matter what she told herself, when she went to the washroom to load the machine and met those green eyes she had only seen once before, Petunia Dursley knew it was not true._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Ginger and cinnamon.

It was a bright sunny afternoon, with the lilac bush on the opposite side of the street in full bloom and the kitchen window was wide open. Petunia stood by the table dicing apples and onions and humming to herself. A tiny redhead beside her was standing on a stool to reach the table top and rubbing a chicken with some fragrant powder. 

Petunia turned and noticed the bird. Her eyes widened in horror and she snached it from the tobler's grasp.

"What is that?" she hissed, "what have you done to the roast!"

The girl looked up. She was clutching her spice covered hands to her chest and shuffling her feet.

"I seasoned it," she murmured.

Petunia did not look impressed.

"We're always having chicken with salt and pepper, so I thought I'd make it different today."

Her shoulders had fallen in defeat and she was wearin a disappointed grimace.

"And what is it that you have seasoned it with?" Petunia held the bird up by one wing in disgust. It was covered in streaks of spices and reminded a little of a five year old's art project.

"Some ginger and cinnamon, and … that, " she pointed at a packet of cumin.

Petunia dropped the would be roast in the sink and and looked disgusted.

"That?" she shrieked, " Ginger and cinnamon! Have you lost your mind?"

The girl flinched and looked at the chicken.

"Go wash it and set the chicken up properly!"

Ginger and cinnamon…Petunia shook her head. Those were gingerbread spices and were good for not much else. The things she something came up with. It was almost like the time Petunia herself was that age and had to put up with the antics of … No!

And that name.

It made her that much harder to hate. To know her sister had not forgotten… That she had named her daughter after a camellia bush.

Petunia sniffed and turned back to her vegetables. She wished to chop away happily and review all the other dishes she had to finish that day and spend the evening polishing the living room furniture. And forget. To live her life as she had - in peace.

There came a tiny voice from begind her.

"As you say, Tuney …"

It was so quiet you could almost have missed it, but something about the way she said it was too much for Petunia. She froze with the knife mid-air and turned around slowly and gawked at the girl.

Had she heard it right? 

She put the knife down and looked at the creature in front of her.

Two huge, bright green eyes the exact colour of the spring leaves outside looked back.

"What?"

That was too much, she would not allow _that_. This thing had come into her house, ate her food and played with her son, Petunia would not be haunted. 

She glared with such venom the girl seemed to shrink.

"Don't - _ever_ \- call me that again."

* * *

It was a strange sight: Lily Evans at the piano.The sight was just that - a redheaded, thin six year old girl with an intense expression on her face playing away on the huge, white instrument. Petunia supposed that was not the truth. Lily had never played music, but the likeness was so exact you could easily forget it was her daughter. Sometimes in on of these huge end-of-year concerts, when she was alone, her husband and son busy in town, just for a moment Petunia pretended it was her sister, who had never left, who had seen that nonsense for what it was, what it would do to her and stayed. It was hot, someone ought to open the window. Petunia looked around but all of them were as wide as could be, she caught glimpse of Mrs Figg to her left. The illusion was broken.

It was just that girl.

One evening, in a fit of temptation Petunia had pulled out the only relic she kept of her past - an album of her childhood. That could have been her starting from the page, only the girl did not own a single green dress. Lily had loved the colour - it made everyone gaze at her eyes. It was a shame their parents had given all their old clothes away to charity. If they had kept them for the grandchildren, Petunia would not have to spend so much on a new outfit every Christmas, her mother's would have fit her as if they were tailored.

Petunia's eyes wondered across the stage and stopped on the severe looking woman with the strikingly white hair. She was sitting a little behind the instrument, her eyes were gleaming with pride as if she had just discovered the cure for cancer. That incorrigible highbrow, Petunia could not stand her and for some reason she got the sense Mrs Engelmann could not stand her either. God only knew why she had decided to teach the girl. And for free no less. Petunia had enrolled her in that snobbish institution only because the dance group was the longest extracurricular she could find. It kept the girl busy in the evenings - away from her eyes and out of mind. The price was that Petunia was expected to watch her perform once a month and twice a year in that end-of-term festival.

Perhaps it was for the best - ever since Mrs Engelmann had seized hold of the girl, the freakish occurrences had become less often and eventually ceased entirely. Where there had been an abnormality at least once a week - shrinking clothes, self stirring bowls or talking to reptiles in the garden - the last thing she could now remember was that all the cabbage seemed to have vanished from the girl's soup a couple months ago.

Would Lily have stayed if there had been something to keep her occupied? She spent every waking moment sneaking out to meet that vagrant and get busy with whatever hocus-pocus he proposed. Maybe some time in a better society could have held her put. But she had never had much interest in decent company - always in the bushes, up a tree or dissecting frog liver with that freak.

The girl thankfully never got up to those kinds of things. She went to school nice and proper and to dance and music after. She held her tongue where Lily would have snapped, stayed where she would have run, subsided where Lily would have fought. It seemed Vernon had been right about stamping it out of her. Even the most beastly creatures could be broken.

* * *

Elly stared at the dish soap bottle on the shelf with an intense look in her eyes. It would fall. She would make it.

Only a tiny sliver of moonlight made it through the kitchen window and into the cupboard. Everyone else in the number four, Prived drive, had long fallen asleep. The house was silent, say for the loud snoring of uncle Vernon upstairs.

Elly imagenied how easy it would be to reach out and swat that bottle down to the floor with her hand. 

No. 

No touching. She had to know.

She sat still on her worn out mattress with the thin, woolly blanket around her shoulders. Not a item of the cleaning products on the shelf was moving.

Was it not her? Was it something or someone else that made those strange things happen?

Aunt Petunia certainty thought it was her. She had once bleached and dyed Elly's hair a horrible shade of blonde that did not suit her at all. It looked like a cheaply made wig and her hair had become dry and brittle. Elly had cried and begged Petunia to cut it off. She had shortened it to chin length and Elly looked like a ragged, blond poodle. The next morning the dreadful coiffure had fallen out and her auburn hair had grown back in all its thick shiny glory. As if to spite the cutting, it had reached her knees.

Uncle Vernon had thrown her back into the cupboard and there had been no breakfast for the next three weeks, aunt Petunia had screamed and called her a freak, but had not tried to change her hair again.

Elly blinked and let out a sigh. The bottle and the blue liquid in it was perfectly still.

If she really was the reason for freakishness as the Durselys seemed to believe, she should at least be able to command it. It vaguely fulfilled her her wishes but those things never happened at her will.

One morning she had been made to eat a really nasty breakfast porridge she had accidentally burnt. While lamenting how much rather she would have anything else, Elly realised she was eating a bowl of chocolate cereal. And on a particularly dull math lesson Mrs Cherrywood's hair had begun floating around her head like gigant tentacles.

It had to be her doing.

Elly stretched out her arm towards the Dawn bottle. She closed her eyes and imagined herself reaching for it. 

Reaching, reaching for it to touch it and push it off.

There was a faint 'whoosh' and the bottle was in her hand.

Elly had not taken it. It had not fallen. But it was in her hand.

That was new. New but not entirely unexpected. It was not precisely what she wanted but it had happened on her command.

Elly put down the bottle and curled up in a ball. She had to sleep, she would think about it tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. Not now. 

Sleep!

But sleep did not come that night.


	3. Bug for the smug.

"Get up, girl!" Petunia screeched, a sharp knock on the door. Elly lifted her head and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes.  
"Up!" her aunt pounded the door again. She returned to the kitchen and Elly heard her  
setting the plates on table. It had been a nice dream. An island in a river. She had been lying in the grass with a pink rufly carnation flower like the ones aunt Petunia gave Dudley every year on the last day of school. She wanted to fall back asleep.  
"Come here this instant or miss breakfast!" Aunt Petunia shouted from the kitchen.  
"Coming! I'm coming!" Elly called and leaped out of bed. She hurried to change Dudley's  
worn-out gray t-shirt to a equally gray shirt dress and a pair of black shoes. She was careful to turn them upside down and shake out any spiders that might have gotten in during the night. One did fall out, and she set it down on the laundry detergent shelf.  
When Elly entered the kitchen, aunt Petunia was busy with more pots and pans than should be necessary for breakfast.  
"The onions," she barked. Elly picked up a cutting board, pulled a knife from the stand began chopping. She tried to blink away the tears.  
Aunt Petunia insisted that Elly had to learn how to cook, otherwise no decent man would ever marry her. Elly had said she would not become anyone's wife just because he liked her cooking, Petunia had scoffed, demanded she stop blabbering nonsense and beat the eggs properly.  
"Morning' Pet," Vernon entered the kitchen and pressed a loud, wet kiss on his wife. "Stop lazing about and get the paper, girl!" he ordered and Elly hurried to fetch the news before her eggs got burnt.  
She had a feeling uncle Vernon disliked her quite a lot and only put up with Elly because tuning her over to an orphanage would reflect badly on his family and career. Drills, bacon and the good opinion of his superiors were his main interests. Aunt Petunia was somewhat more lenient. She was determined to mold Elly into a miniature version of herself and loved boasting to the neighbors about how she would send her off to some prestigious all-girls boarding school as soon as she turned eleven and have her married by twenty. Elly did not say she had no intention to ever marry, but all the same, she could not wait to leave number four Privet Drive.  
A great thundering noise came from the stairs and soon the spherical form of Dudley Dursley  
dressed in white and blue striped pajamas entered the kitchen.  
"Where's my lorry?" he demanded.  
Elly dropped 'Whinging Morning Press' on the table but did not manage to pull the pan out of Dudley's reach as he nicked a half-cocked piece of bacon.  
"Careful, it's hot!" she protested.  
He gobbled it up and crashed down into his seat with a heavy huff. "Where is it?" he whined. "Did you steal it?"  
"No, I haven't touched any of your things," Elly pulled the pan of muffins out of the oven and began piling them on a plate.  
"Mummy, she stole it!" Dudley was beginning to work up a temper and turn a light shade of pink. There was a tantrum in the air.  
"Where is it?" aunt Petunia mist have sensed it too as she set down the coffee maker and gave her a sharp look. Elly tried to remember where she had last seen Dudley's stupid red little fire engine he called lorry.  
"Well, last time I saw it in your room." It was probably in that mess somewhere.  
He looked disappointed and got up from his seat with a great effort to go look for it. Elly put the plates with eggs, bacon and muffins on the table. Her stomach rumbled.  
"Living off our money's not enough for you, is it? Now you've got to pilfer Dudder's things as well?" Vernon gurgled from behind his paper. Elly tried her best to ignore the comment.  
"Just like your parents, eh?" He continued louder. "Leeches on society, I say. Honest people can't get ahead because of the lot of you!" He sputtered and slammed his fist on the table for emphasis. The plates jumped. Elly needed to distract him - it would not do if uncle Vernon got to talking before any breakfast had made its way into him. She turned on the radio.  
Petunia had not told her to do so, but luckily she did not object and Dudley was called back  
downstairs. The radio went on about weather and how there was a huge snow storm coming.  
'But I don't want a tomato!" Dudley whined. He was sustaining himself almost exclusively on  
bacon while Petunia futility attempted to get her son to ingest a vegetable.  
"What would you like then, popkins?" Petunia asked. "Eggs? Rice? A muffin?"  
Elly sensed this could end loudly with the food on the floor and hastened to devour her ration  
of rice.  
"Bacon!" Dudley yelled and reached for it.  
"That's my boy! Has his own tastes already." Uncle Vernon chuckled.  
Aunt Petunia passed him the plate and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was quite  
particular about her food, mainly, she did not eat very much of it and overcompensated by  
stuffing her husband and son. That did not extend to Elly however. Her aunt loved to go on about how she had inherited her mother's figure and could not afford any excess pounds and how meat or anything sweet would make her fat and ugly. Elly thought she had rather severely misplaced her concern for Dudley but any attempts to remedy that would not go  
down well with uncle Vernon.  
"Good God, it's nine already!" aunt Petunia jumped out of her chair and hastened to drag  
Elly away from the table. "We'll be late."  
She spooned in the last bits of food and was hauled down the corridor to the utility closet  
where aunt Petunia kept her clothes for wearing outside the house. The winter break had begun and that meant her aunt now had free rein to parade Elly around every tea party in the neighborhood as some circus spectacle. They would gather around and gush and gossip about the tragic fate of her parents and then feel very good about themselves and how they had so selflessly taken in the poor unfortunate creature Elly was.  
"Not like that." Petunia yanked a braid out of Elly's hands." I will not have you leave this  
house looking like a vagrant." She re-braided it, pulled a glittery pink atrocity with scratchy  
cheap lace out of the closet and over her head and tied the waist of the dress so tight it  
made Elly gasp. It smelled of air freshener. The tulle skirt was coarse and prickly and there was a grating label that scraped the back of her neck. It felt something like sandpaper. She tried to fold it away. Petunia was busy adorning her hair with tasteless pink hair pins that included everything from beads and flowers to feathers and false gems. Elly stared at the mirror - the girl in it looked ridiculous. Her hair clashed horribly with the colour, and she hated glitter, but the only thing Petunia seemed to care about was that the neighbors found it adorable. Mrs Winter often said she looked like a baby angel - Elly often thought she looked like a clown in a costume.  
After being properly harassed about her appearance, Elly emerged from the house wearing a white faux fur coat and two pigtails so tight it hurt. As this was the first day of the break and Petunia was to be away all day, uncle Vernon had not objected to his wife's plans and decided to take Dudleykins to a shooting-range.  
Elly did not care as long as she could spend time in the presence of less Dursleys. She  
looked up. The sky was a pearly gray and snow was lazily floating down to cover the world in a sparkly, white blanket. Most of Privet Drive had already done their Christmas decorating.  
The neighbors in number seven had decked every surface with Christmas lights, Mr Number twelve was setting up a gigantic Christmas tree and the Martinsons had put the angels in their windows just like they did every year. Petunia hurried Elly past Mr Winter's youngest son, who was angrily plowing the snow off of the pavement, and they turned left to the Wisteria Walk. It was almost the same. Wreaths bedecked every door, lights hung from all the roofs and an occasional over decorated tree loomed over the lawns. Mrs Figg's house alone was unadorned and with dark windows. Elly supposed the woman did not have anyone to do the decorating, and she herself was quite old. There were only a pair of spruce branches hanging in one of the windows. They were tied together with a thick, red string and embellished with mismatched multicolored ribbons in varying lengths - blue and glittery, red velvety, white and shiny and some green organza.  
"Preposterous!" Aunt Petunia scoffed when she notices the odd ornament. "Do it right or  
don't do it at all."  
As they rounded the corner to the Magnolia Road an incredibly fluffy brown tabby with large bat-like ears passed aunt Petunia and miaoued loudly. Was it Mrs Figg's Tufty? She tried to shoo it away, but the cat merely flicked its tail and continued the dignified stroll.  
A snow machine rattled by with a thundering noise and Elly noticed they had finally arrived at Mrs Smith's. Number eight Magnolia Road was shining in all its glory - adorned with garlands and bright red baubles, every window displayed a matching wreath and elves had thoroughly infested the garden. Petunia pressed the doorbell and not moments later a tall woman almost as skinny as she herself with short, glossy brown hair in a white turtleneck answered the door with a plastered on a smile as fake as her eyelashes.  
"Petunia dear, how lovely to see you!" She squeaked and quickly squeezed her aunt.  
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Sophia." Petunia said. Mrs Smith noticed the girl beside  
her and bent down. "And you've brought little Elly as well. Absolutely wonderful! Come in, come in darling!"  
They were ushered inside and aunt Petunia was fast busy relating the latest and greatest juicy gossip about her neighbors in number seven. Mrs Smith offered Elly a pair of bunny slippers. They were far too large, but fuzzy and warm.  
"Oh, God!" Petunia was in her hair again. Wisps had escaped the braids and were dancing around her head like some unruly sea serpents. Good five minutes later her aunt had fixed Elly's updo to her satisfaction, and they finally joined the rest of the company that had gathered in Mrs Smith's living room.  
"Oh, now you simply must tell me!" gushed Mrs Smith. She was leaning so close to Petunia it seemed she was trying to smell something. "What is it with his babysitter?"  
"Well, certainly not something you heard from me, but Madelyn's daughter, what's her name,  
Jane?" Petunia had puffed up from the attention so much Elly thought her aunt might lift off the white leather sofa and float away like a hot air balloon. "Mr and Mrs Walker had just left and not half an hour later Mr Walker comes back and spends the entire day there. Can you imagine?" Mrs Smith gasped and Aunt Petunia recited all the other evidence of Mr Walker's supposed affair. The rest of the neighbors were so engrossed in the tale that a carnival parade could walk past the window and no-one would notice.  
Elly looked around the living room, it was painted yellow and decorated with so many family pictures you would think it was a photo gallery. She was contemplating sneaking off  
somewhere to spend the evening and read some of Mr Smith's building manuals, when a  
pile of chocolate and tea biscuits and all kinds of other treats that had been stacked on the  
coffee table caught her attention. Forbidden treasure! She scanned the women, but no-one  
seemed to pay her any mind. Good.  
Lesson number one: be very careful with your sweets in the presence in Camellia Potter.  
She grabbed a small chocolate cube and shoved it in her mouth. Caramel filling - it was  
indeed delicious. Nicking sweets like that could at least partly justify these boring gossip  
meetings. She reached for another - was it cream of custard?  
"I say the best way we can show them, is to not be bothered and have a good time," Mrs  
Winter gave a delicate sniff and turned to her tea. She was rather short and her hair stood  
around her head in a way that reminder Elly a little of a cloud. She hoped her aunt had not  
noticed her stuffing her face and lifted the tea cup pretending to be drinking and feverishly  
munched down Mrs Smith's truffles. She loved to brag about how expensive they were - the  
visitors were allowed one each - and five had mysteriously disappeared.  
"You never told me you had a piano, Sophy." Mrs McKinnon looked up from her tea. She  
was a tall bulky blonde with an authoritative upturned nose and impeccable sense of  
style."Elly dear, you do play, don't you? It would be simply wonderful to hear something from you."  
At that she perked up and beamed at Mrs McKinnon. The neighbors were always dazzled to see her perform and those were the rare moments aunt Petunia looked somewhat pleased. She was sitting up straighter just now. Elly sat down at the piano and chose a piece about a cuckoo bird - it was what Mrs Figg had last taught her and it had become easy with practice. Another benefit was that it was fast enough it would impress anyone who did not play themselves. When Elly was finished, the gathering cried with delight and applauded vigorously. She could not help feeling just as smug as Petunia looked - it was something she had done herself, and they were fascinated.  
Elly sat down and noticed Mrs Figg on the couch to the side. She was wearing a flowery  
dress and tartan skirt with her hair in a kind of bun old people did. Elly smiled at her and  
wondered how her teacher had gotten in - she certainly had not been invited. Mrs Figg was  
stroking a sleek black kitten with bright amber eyes. Had she smuggled it in her purse?  
Aunt Petunia was busy chattering with the crowd about her other achievements.  
"Just yesterday we received the report card." She was looking unreasonably self-satisfied  
and pulled a yellow paper from her bag. The party huddled around to stare at Elly's grades.  
"Goodness gracious, I can't believe my eyes!" Mrs Martinson shouted, "I'll be sure to take  
this up with Betty, she's been going on forever about how it's impossible to get an A in  
literature."  
Elly felt heat creeping in her pace - she was absolutely certainly turning a fine shade of pink.  
The literature teacher was quite strict when it came to essays and Elly sensed her grades  
may have something to do with the fact that she liked her. Mostly because of all the books  
she used to carry around, but even besides that Elly was something of a general teacher's  
pet. That did not stop Mrs Martinson's comment from making her warm and fuzzy inside.  
It was also partly because of Beth. She had come up with Elly-Smelling sometime in their  
fourth year. Someone would run up to her and declare her clothes stank of their grand-aunt  
Adda or her hair reeked of the carrot salad in the cantine.  
That was ridiculous - her hair was not even in a proper carrot colour.  
Beth also told anyone who would listen not to go near Elly as she had some highly infectious  
disease.  
Was it her freckles?  
She got them whenever a slightest ray of sun touched her skin. Aunt Petunia had once  
made her wear some special sunscreen that was supposed to prevent them, but it only  
made her skin red and itchy and the freckles appeared regardless. But they were not  
contagious. The same people got them no matter who they talked to.  
Maybe she would have less time for Elly-Smelling if she had to bring home an A for  
literature. If Mrs Martinson would cut her Betty down to size, Elly was happy to give her any  
reason.  
"Yes, parenting makes an impact on any child," Petunia said.  
Elly's attention snapped immediately back to her aunt.  
"It all comes down to how they're raised." She sniffed.  
Elly did not like where this was going. Petunia loved chattering about how dreadful her  
parents had been. She was assuming that tell-tale grimace she wore when regaling others about how her sister had had no common sense and what a licentious bastard she had married.  
"You wouldn't believe, but her parents were quite the wrong sort."  
"What do you mean, dearest?" Mrs Winter's eyebrows rose in confusion.  
'I'd hate to speak ill of the dead, but to put it plainly - drunks and squanders."  
Elly looked at her aunt - she clearly hated her sister and her husband more than speaking ill  
of them. The years spent with the Dursleys had given her some idea why - her father had  
apparently gotten drunk on a Halloween night and steered the car into the opposite lane.d Details varied from telling to telling, but in the end he had killed both his wife and himself and left his daughter an orphan with a dreadful scar. The neighbors had cried and demanded to see it. Elly had refused. Petunia had made her. When they saw the angry red lightning bolt right on her heart, Mrs Winter fainted, Mrs McKinnon had kissed her on the head and Mrs Martinson had declared how blessed she was to have survived it. Petunia was smug. Elly could not understand why she liked to boast about it. Dudley was mean and rude, and dense as a brick, he even indulged in Elly-Smelling on occasion. She would try to forget him as soon as she did not have to see him. Prating about how horrible someone had been was no good way to forget them.  
"But your niece is such a sweet little girl, how could her parents have possibly been like  
that?" Mrs Winter demanded. Her hair had puffed around her head in a white orb, and she was eyeing Petunia with suspicion.  
"Nurture over nature, I suppose, but oh, I'm telling you, it was some scandal, that boy. And  
mother at twenty-one!" Petunia clattered and the surrounding women murmured with  
disapproval.  
"And his mother, God have mercy, that woman - she was something else." Petunia shook  
her head. "No wonder he turned out as he did."  
Elly wished they would leave her dead parents alone, this made her feel like some exotic  
half-breed pet.  
"Your truffles are lovely, Mrs Smith." She piped in. Aunt Petunia gave her a disapproving  
frown.  
"Why, thank you!" Mrs Smith smiled, "Brought them all the way from London."  
"Leave the others some as well," Petunia said, "As I was saying, I certainly wouldn't want to  
make those kinds of mistakes. Some nuisance she was, my sister. Even as a child - no  
sense in decent company."  
Aunt Petunia continued pointing out all the ways her mother had not raised her sister  
right - company must be chosen from the proper society, after school activities must be  
strictly controlled and any dangerous ideas should be curbed from the start. She shifted in  
her seat and lifted her chin with an air of self-importance. "Sometimes I wonder if it was for the best - that accident."  
Elly gaped at her aunt.  
"It was lucky in a way, I shudder to think what my niece could have become."  
That was… that was just… Why? Elly could feel her teeth clenching.  
"That is somewhat ruthless of you!" Mrs McKinnon sputtered.  
"But consider it, Rosie, would you rather a child grew up in a house with drunks for parents or with respectable people like yourself? You can't deny children take after whoever is around the most."  
Elly clenched her fists on the edge of Mrs Smith's white sofa. How dare she! Was she one of aunt Marjorie's dogs to them - simply the sum of her parents' genes and Petunia's parenting?  
"If you put it that way…" Mrs Smith sighed. The room was muttering and some nodded in  
agreement.  
Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. Elly wanted to break something. Preferably  
expensive. She could hurl one of those dainty china teacups at the wall. Mrs Smith would  
screech. Someone would get boils.  
She also wanted dinner.  
Her aunt had moved on to reciting the sins of her father. This had to end.  
Did Mrs Green have any spiders? Most people Petunia included feared them more than death itself, there had to be some here if only you knew where to look. Her aunt would  
probably kill it if she set it on the couch. Elly did not want to drown it in tea cup either, but if it was empty, Petunia would drop the cup and the spider would have a chance to escape. She just had to find one.  
Elly looked at the corners of the room, under her chair, and she was just considering having a peek inside the cleaning cupboard, when Mrs Figg noticed her.  
"Lost something?" she asked.  
Bugger. Elly froze and racked her head for a plausible answer. Mrs Figg looked awfully  
strained.  
"My ring, I took it off for the playing and now I can't find it."  
"Well, where did you last see it?"  
Elly pretended to consider this for a moment and reached in her pocket. "Oh, it's here."  
Mrs Figg gave her a weak smile and went to sit back down. Elly followed and took a  
chocolate raisin from the stand. She stared at it. What else could she do? Drop a shortbread  
in Petunia's tea to shut her up? Trying to distract her with weather or something likewise inane would not work. Elly had tried that in the past. If only some insect would show up… Elly wished her raisin were a beetle, she would throw it at her aunt and the talk about  
her sister would be forgotten. The chocolate wiggled and Elly dropped it. There was a  
cockroach on the floor. Ellys eyes widened - the raisin had turned into a cockroach. Were  
there some mixed in between the sweets? She found another on the plate and stared.  
Perhaps it was a cockroach too - it rather looked like one. Yes, there it was. Elly moved on to the next one.  
After a minute or two one of the not-raisins-anymore fell out of the tray and someone noticed.  
"Rosie is that … What am I seeing?" Mrs Smith squinted. "Bug! Bug, there's a bug in food!"  
Elly suppressed a giggle, but could not keep the gleam out of her eyes.  
"Oh my God!" Mrs Winter leaped to her feet.  
"What is it?" Mrs McKinnon soon noticed it too and jerked from the table.  
Elly wished her aunt had some on her plate, but she did not eat sweets.  
"Should we call the emergency?" Mrs Martinson screeched. She had climbed on a chair and was clutching her bag. "Sophie darling, I didn't know you had an infestation!"  
"Those aren't mine!" Mrs Smith yelled and ran for the telephone. "Those are Petunia's  
chocolates!"  
"They are mine, but I didn't bring those." Petunia protested white as a sheet. She had frozen in her seat paralyzed with fear. Mrs Winter was dashing around the room trying to find something to kill the cockroaches with.  
Elly remained serenely in her seat. She supposed it was rather cruel to scare them with an insect they feared like the plague, but it had wiped the superior expression off Petunia's face. The cockroaches were not real anyway and after a few hours Mrs Smith would wonder where they all had gone and why there were loose sweets under her bed and in the pantry.  
"Does anyone have a pest control number?" Mrs McKinnon was the loudest.  
Mrs Figg did not look alarmed, she had packed her cat back where it came from and retreated to a corner where she continued sipping from her cup as if nothing had happened and this was perfectly normal. Elly could swear she saw Mrs Figg smirk in her tea.  
"Don't worry, I'll get them!" Mrs Winter had returned from the kitchen wielding a large curved butcher knife.  
Elly absently wondered if someone would lose a finger.  
"Don't! It will break!" Mrs Martinson cried and covered her face.  
Mrs McKinnon rushed over and did her best to restrain Mrs Winter from smashing Mrs Smith's glass coffee table. "The number! We need an exterminator!" She bellowed and grabbed the knife out of her hands.  
Mrs Smith did eventually find an old pest control pamphlet and after half an hour a blue minibus rolled into her driveway. The party was dismissed early, and she frantically apologised to everyone and kept repeating she did not have a pest problem.  
Petunia was furious. She hauled her down the street with so much force Elly tripped and fell again and again, but no matter how long she would have to spend in the cupboard for this, she thought her parents mist have been worth it.


End file.
